


//i don't know why you're crying, but soak me with your tears//

by RagingBisexual



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Billverly - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentioned Losers Club (IT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13733565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBisexual/pseuds/RagingBisexual
Summary: for all the times she wept and he never knew why, but held her regardless.for the time she cries with newfound reason and he never lets go.(billverly and referenced losers club friendship)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI, this is rly old and has been in my drafts since september of 2017. It wasn't the best but I'm not either.  
> Some of this is not canon (its fanfiction so why the hell would it be lol). Some of the key bonding moments between bill and bev I had in here just seemed to fit, but are not canon by any means. Just wanted to adress that lol.  
> mentions of pennywise and actual plot are quite minimal bcs this story is billverly centered.

  Bill Denbrough was about as exceptional as they came for 13 year old boys. And while that's not what his parents (if you could even call them that) or friends would tell you, it was undeniably true. It was all in the balance he kept. Like how he wasn't the biggest loser in school, but far from the top of the food chain, with Henry or Greta or Patrick. Like how he didn't forget about Georgie, (not that he ever intended to, ever) but still kept his mind off of him when it was just too much. Like how he wasn't unnecessarily bold, but still said something when Henry was such an obvious dick.

  And balace was what he needed. It was the even distribution of emotions and feelings and pain that kept him going when he felt like he couldn't. It kept him grounded and tethered to the Earth when he swore he was floating away. And all 5 of his friends (Richie, Ben, Mike, Stan, and Eddie) proved to be a big entity in his life; one that he didn't feel like he couldn't live without.

Richie kept things light (sometimes too light, but better than the alternative) when they felt heavy. Stan kept him sensible, and essentially helped him use his mind instead of his heart when it was too influenced by the past. Ben always made him feel less crazy when he felt like he was going insane, providing him with facts and thoughts that justified what seemed impossible. Eddie was a walking first aid kit, patching up not only Bill, but just about everyone. And Mike seemed to know what loss felt like, what the missing hole in your heart did to you. They weren't the closest, but he was definitely a great addition that helped him.

  But then Beverly Marsh, (the same one he kissed in the 3rd grade, not as if it was big deal or anything) came along. And it's not that she wasn't supportive and sweet and kind and god, really fucking pretty, but she definitely did not help him with balance. Because instead of forcing himself to get his healthy 8 hours every night, he stayed up late sketching her bright ginger hair, her freckles that dotted her rosy cheeks, her blue eyes that were so goddamn distracting he swore he stuttered just thinking about them.

  And though he was a smart and sensible for his age, he was still a dumb teenage boy when it came to girls. Pretty ones at that. And not of him to be creepy, but Beverly was definitely pretty. But even though she was pretty and seemed perfect, he wasn't as stuid at to think that was the case. It was the same way people saw him and knew he put on a composed mask everyday, even though part of him always hurt. It took one to know one.

  Getting to know her over that Summer of 1989 was good. Better than good, it was amazing, fantastic, magnificent, splendid, a million things and thoughts he didn't think could be put into words without sounding as overwhelming as they felt. But over the smiles and the sunshine, the swims in the quarry and the ice cream, she crumbled (as they all did). Most kids would under the fear of a menacing _thing, a clown or devil of sorts that transformed into what terrified you most._ Something told him, maybe the way she sobbed or how she shook when she did so that it was more, because that wasn't just fear, it was pain.

  But he never asked because he knew sometimes it was better to just be held, how good it felt to feel tethered to another person while you relieve yourself of pent up emotion.

  The first time he saw _her,_ behind everything she pretended to be, was after the timely cleaning of her crimson bathroom. Eddie wiping the tiles and ceramic sides of the bath, Ben washing out the red on the linoleum floor, Stan cleaning the wallpaper, Bill and Bev brushing hands as they rinsed out the sink. The cloths had been rung out into countless buckets, the sponges and rags dripping red water that ran pink. They'd all been washed out into old tupperware, then dumped out into the previously red tub. It was refreshing, good.

And everyone had left, stepped out of the newly cleaned room and into the narrow hallways that stretched to the bent up door. But Beverly didn't, and that was enough for Bill to stay put, too. 

"Thanks for this. All of it, seriously. I can't think of many other people who would willingly clean my bloody bathroom." She gives him a toothy half smile, inbetween gratitude and joy and relief, as if the washed out bloodstains left her at ease. 

"I-It's nothing. It ww-would've been a d-dick move to l-leave you t-t-to clean it out y-yourself." he stutters out. He hates his stuttering in the first place, but how unpredictable and uncontrollable it tended to be in Beverly's presence makes it all the worse. "Didn't your d-d-dad see this?" The question was harmless, meant to be, at least. He doubts the severity of the reaction and answer he gets from her. 

Because as soon as her 'father' is mentioned, the one she obeys but hates, her face sinks. Her bright grin dulls and her blue eyes do too, the color lost from her face and her composure devoid of previous happiness. And it all happened so quick, as if she was the embers of the sun and just happened to burn out. She swallows before continuing. "No. He walked in and saw me on the floor, acted like I was crazy. And then," she stopped to compose herself again, blinking a few times and taking a breath in through her nose, sharp and loud "he said he worries about me, which is total bull. He doesn't worry, not the way he should. Not the way any dad should." And after the words are said, he can tell that they slipped, by the way she closes her mouth as soon as they come out.

He looks back at her, with sympathy and comfort but no words, understanding but not quite. It was no secret that Beverly's home life wasn't glamorous, but a peek into what it did to her made Bill question it, thoughts forming into words. But he was around a girl, a pretty one at that, and they didn't come out.

He saw a few pre-leaking tears dripping from the ones that had welled up in her eyes, and he moves his arms around her on autopilot. And she shakes a bit harder, making him more worried and more scared. He doesn't say anything though, just holds her as she cries. And though he doesn't know why, she's upset, and he'll never object to holding her. It doesn't have to mean anything if she doesn't want it to, because comfort isn't romantic in the slightest, regardless of his stupid maybe-crush on her. 

"Sorry"

And when she wipes her tears, she softly whispers out "don't be." Because if her dad wouldn't hold her when she was terrified and scared, hurt and mortified, Bill Denbrough wasn't all that bad.

(This is part one of 3 I have drafted. Ill edit and post the rest soon but proof reading sucks lmao. Knowing me there's probably still gramatical errors.)

 


	2. //stop drowning for those who won't get in the damn water//

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long ass title and lame ass chapter (what'd you expect)

   The second and third time Bill ever _sees the real Beverly Marsh_ , and not just with his eyes, are both less awkward then the first. Holding her used to seem less natural than it had come to feel. He can remember being unsure if the embrace was too tight or not tight enough, what was comforting and what was unecessary, what calmed her and what would scare her off. Things like that he had come to figure out, as simply embracing her gave him the knowledge. But there were more answers he would never know but wanted so desperately to, like why touch seemed to scare her more than anything. When she was vulnerable and simply needed to be held, she would always shake harder at the first brush of Bill.

>  ~  _She flinched roughly around his arms as they snaked around her shoulders and back. It had worried him in the moment, started up his anxiety when it was most important for him to be the calm person. "S-s-sorry. I didn't mean to, s-scare you off, I-I sh-should've b-been more-" Bill had stuttered as many words out as possible until the obnoxious habbit cut him off completely. 'Nice going, jackass.'_
> 
> _"S'not you. It'll never be you." she has stated back plainly, almost weakly, voice hoarse with tears and emotion. And with that, she had wrapped her own arms around his back, urging him on in what she had thought would be an encouraging motion.  To hold her so tight she was sure he'd never let go._
> 
> _'Not all touch had to be scary'~_
> 
> _  
> _

  But that had been the first time, when her form seemed so foreign and unfarmiliar in his arms. When it had been the only memory he had of seeing her so torn and fucking raw. The tears were the only thing that urged him to go for it, to wrap his arms around her and make her better, better than how shitty she must've felt in that moment.

  And time had made it all seem more natural. What use to feel wrong felt so right, as if they fit like two puzzle pieces. Bill knew how she felt and easily picked up on her tics without conscious effort, memorizing the way she tensed when something was unpleasent, learning how she went limp in his arms when his motions were comforting. The harsh lines on her face would melt away when she was calmed, happy and at ease and as pretty as ever. And everything about all of it became so Beverly that he was sure he could know her from a million different girls without even seeing her freckled face.

But none of it happened by magic. She fell apart before his eyes again that same month, later on in June, whilst in his trashed garage. He remebers her hands running along the map of Derry, her slim fingers smoothing the tarp down flat against the wall. How she brushed the dust off of the projecter and its cartridges, ensuring it would work. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she worked to boot up the light. 

He had stuttered through an explanation he had been preparing for an eternity, planning to give his parents to spark hope in them that Georgie was alive and out there, as if it would make them agknowledge his existence. But he thinks less on that then he had in the past, because his friends and a very pretty girl are listening and believing his words like his mother and father never could.

Her finds then that he stumbles over his words a lot less when he knows and believes people are actually listening to them. And he feels like a leader, respected and proud as he finally gets recognition for how much he's discovered about what Derry has tried to keep hidden. The way it falls into place as he shows them all where the sewers meet, where everyone has gone missing, how he's connected it all with one little red line on a map.

And it all seems perfect until Eddie get freaked, tears down the map and stands in front of where it was hanging, puffing his inhaler like a mad man and shakily yelling out something about having an asthma attack to everyone else. But Bill felt like he was getting closer, to the truth and to Georgie and to justice, and he can't seem to care about Eddie and his asthma in that moment. So he tells him to pin it back up to the wall, because he's too damn close to what he's wanted for almost a year now and he's not about to give it up. 

And though Eddie refuses, the projector flicks back on anyway, switching slide by slide. Slide by slide. Slide by Slide. Slide by slide. And it takes Bill a moment to realize that no one is touching the machine, and as he flicks his gaze downward, he hears a few nervous voices telling him to 'knock it off' and stop. But he doesn't respond, because as fear causes him to avert his gaze from the projector, his eyes bulge wider at the images lit up on the wall. Slides of photos he han't even loaded into the plastic slots. 

All of them of Georgie. Him alive and happy and present with Bill, healthy and smiling and as bright as ever. And panic sets in when he hears Beverly breathing heavily, muttering some words turning into sentences that are becoming progressively louder. 'Turn it off! Turn it off!'

And with her distressed cries, he does. He knocks it to the ground and allows it to fall off of the wooden shelf it was sat on. That was the only time in his life he thinks he could forget about how upset his parents would be, how expensive the equipment is to replace. And brief relief fills his body for the split second before it flicks back on, switching faster and faster variations of the same photo, his family together and happy and well. It's such a comforting distant memory until wind brushes his Mom's red locks away, obscuring her face. And when she comes back into view, he is certain of one thing.

That is not his mother. His mother had never sparked so much fear as the menacing smile of a clown's crimson lips.

The lights flick on and then off. The projector's illumination is cut in short spasms until it's back on. And suddenly the cracked white skin, blood red smile and piercing yellow eyes are no longer a simple projection. They are real. It lunges for them all, still tampering with the flicker of the lights, practically strobing them in feat to snatch someone up. And all Bill can register is the mortified yet expectant look on Bev's face as It reaches for her, the way her lips quiver and her hands instinctively shake as they come to cover her face. Her eyes widen so incredibly large, the blue glazed over in shock and memory. Like she's known the feeling of vulnerability before, sitting back and doing nothing as something terrifying comes for you.

But as light returns to the room, It is gone. She's still a mess on the floor, but she is safe. And Bill has no idea what he'd do if he lost her. So as she shakily gets up off of the ground, few tears leaking on her blotchy yet beautiful face, he welcomes her needy embrace with open arms, hugging her back with force that holds a million words he wishes he could say.

Her heavy breathing was so worrying, yet it assured him that it was her, alive and unharmed from what threatened to change that all few minutes ago. Her labored breathes became calmer as he wordlessly inhaled and exhaled with her, hoping to reassure her senses of safety. It was as if his anxiety became so much less apparent on the surface when he knew she needed him calm. Because though he didn't exactly know why yet, Beverly Marsh was pained, in pain at that, and needed something to ease it. And whatever she may or may not have, he wanted to be with her until it became enough.


End file.
